


Elegeus

by wargoddess



Category: Bakuretsu Hunters | Sorcerer Hunters, RG Veda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sorcerer Hunters are the reincarnations of ancient gods who are fated to battle the God of Destruction again and again throughout time.  An origin tale borrowing from the heavenly setting of RG Veda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elegeus

**Author's Note:**

> Winner of the 2001 Yaoicon Fanfiction contest (shounen-ai division)! And originally written maybe 5 years before. Just posting it here to get it off my hard drive. Contains some fangirl Japanese... sorry. -_- I was young.

On the eve of my five hundred and fifty-fifth birthday I was named Tenrin-ouji Yakushia, Heir Apparent to the throne of the Tenkai. I was still a stripling by many reckonings but old enough, my father judged, to be confirmed in my rank and begin accepting some of the responsibilities of rule which would one day be mine in entirety. It was an auspicious number of natal years, and as it coincided with an auspicious day and an auspicious event, plans were promptly formed for a celebration.

The noble rulers of the principal god-clans of the Tenkai needed little excuse to make a pageant of it. My father had grown jaded in his old age, and saw little use anymore for large-scale formal affairs of the sort that had marked his own youthful years. Thus it came as no surprise that responses returned practically as soon as the invitations had gone out. Yes of course Lord Yu would be in attendance. Why certainly the Torute-clan sworddancers would make the time! The Yuyoukujin, the warrior-priestesses of Aporos, the solemn Sutera; all sent their replies politely-worded and honorably-presented, and nearly every one managed to drop hints of daughters and cousins and sisters who would attend as well. All of whom were young, lovely, and unwed, naturally.

For therein lay the crux of the matter. Oh, the nobles would strut and preen in their finest for all (and especially their rivals) to see, and attempt to curry favor with my father---but the true prize of the evening would be not the Tenrin-ou's smile, but the Tenrin-ouji's. My unwed status, combined with a beauty that the Tenkai's highest scribes had declared legendary, had for years made me the prize in any number of noble schemes. Now, my ascension meant that the hunt could begin in earnest, and this event would be the starting line. I could look forward to an evening of being introduced and displayed and stalked at best; propositioned outright, or perhaps even manipulated into compromising positions, at worst. My father, I should note, found this situation hilarious.

I suppose I must have had some inkling even then of what was to come. In all my five hundred years I had taken no permanent lovers, and had only occasionally dabbled in the pleasures of which a young god should avail himself. It was only partly that I had fleeting interests in such things, being more drawn to the arts and contemplation than feasting and combat. It would be more accurate to say that I simply felt no urgency in pursuing them. I know now that I was waiting, though I had no clue of it at the time, for something else -- something more powerful, more relevant. Not love; love was merely a bonus. Destiny. It found me on the night of my post-ascension ball.

***

When the Hokuten Kaaruman first entered the Hall of the Heavens, it was to a chorus of whispers and less-polite titters of amusement. I remember being impressed at once by the stoicism with which he bore their ridicule. He was long used to such things, I expected. The Hokuten were the youngest of the god-clans, only elevated from common-hood a millennium or two before; the stigma of their low-class origin remained upon them like a brand. Worse, however, was their reputation. They had made no effort to affect the trappings or decadence of the other god-clans since their elevation. They lived the same simple, rough existence they'd always kept up in their remote northern fastness. This endeared them to the common folk, but the nobility were another matter. I heard my own father mutter as he was announced, "And what shall he bring us in tribute, hmm? Snow-fleas, perhaps?" His advisors stifled polite snickers.

I kept my own expression neutral as he approached down the long red aisle, having long ago learned that where a king may laugh and an advisor smile, a prince must never burn his bridges. As the Hokuten reached the foot of the throne dais, however, I felt myself immediately liking him. After the parade of fine fabrics and mind-numbing colors, his simple tunic, trousers, and cloak -- grey and black and grey, respectively -- were both striking and soothing to the eye. Where the others had ostentatiously displayed heavily-ornamented faces and hair, he wore a wide furred hood that concealed much of his face. This was traditional for the warriors of his clan, an advisor murmured behind me. I could make out only the bottom half of his face, which showed a strong chin and a stern mouth. His posture told me more about him as he strode down the aisle with the audience laughing at him on both sides. He carried a sturdy carved staff of black wood rather than the more traditional sword; he did not lean on it. Not once did he display self-consciousness or discomfort, moving with a sedate confidence. He might as well have been walking through a hall of beloved admirers -- or a hall empty of people altogether. I had the sense that neither would make a difference to him.

He stopped and knelt before the throne, laying his staff before him, and spoke the words of the traditional greeting. "I present myself to you, Yakushia-ouji, on behalf of my clan and my lands. I am Kaaruman, chief of the Northern Guardians."

"Well met, Lord Kaaruman," I replied. "I am honored that the Guardians could spare you from the duty of protecting the northern border from the demon hordes. I am told that attacks are frequent up there."

"My warriors are more than able to manage the situation, Ouji-sama," he replied, simply and without conceit. He wore dignity about himself like an aura. "It was more important that I come to offer our tribute to you on this day."

I had grown weary of the tributes. Each of the nobles seemed determined to out-marvel the other with little regard for my tastes. Or any taste, for that matter. I now owned seven rare white dragonlings thanks to the Keeku tribe; lovely in the short term, but likely to kill every living thing on the palace grounds if I did not have them dispatched soon. My father had been charmed by the carved diamond statue of myself which had been made by the artisans of the Koocha clan, so I would make a gift of it to him.

Still, I dutifully replied, "Then I am doubly honored, Lord Kaaruman. What tribute do you offer?"

"My lands are ice-bound, Ouji-sama, and provide my people with few luxuries. I have neither wealth to lay at your feet, nor baubles. I can offer only the talent that my people have cultivated in the thousand centuries since my line was founded."

He looked up, then, and began to recite.

>  _  
> "Three by three are the dynasties of reason  
>  Six hundred is the year of the Beast.  
> In conclave grave the last shall go forth  
> To battle, and none shall be spared._
> 
>  _"The darkness comes, but with it hope;  
>  Four stars shine brightest in the heavens.  
> Merge past and present and uncertain future  
> And the blood of evil shall bring salvation."  
> _   
> 

He fell silent, and so did we all.

In the wake of the silence, I searched for something to say for several moments, during which he got to his feet. "Poetry, Lord Kaaruman?" I said at last. "Your verse is beautiful, but... forgive me if I lack the sophistication to appreciate your clan's talent. It feels... sad. Somewhat disturbing."

"As it should, Ouji-sama," Kaaruman replied gravely, "for the talent of my clan is not poetry, but prophecy." He bowed, deeply. "My tribute is foreknowledge. It may not please you, but it will help you." And with that, he turned to leave.

"Wait," called my father a moment before I might have. "What foreknowledge is this? You offer only a riddle, chieftain."

He turned back. "The spirit-mists bend many ways, Ou-sama. They do not divulge their secrets in straight lines. This has always been the way of prophecy. I have given you what I can." He bowed again, then turned on his heel and walked out, oblivious to the consternation left in his wake.

***

Nobles are resilient creatures. The festivities resumed promptly once my father commanded the musicians to play, and I spent the next few hours dancing with as wide a selection of potential brides as possible so as to avoid showing favor to any one. Of course there were any number of scandalized whispers underlying the usual banter, flattery, and gossip; most concerned the Hokuten, of course. But if it hadn't been him it would have been something else. I was grateful, at least, that the Hokuten distracted them -- somewhat -- from discussing my malleability, likely lifespan, and bedroom prowess.

By the small hours of the morning I had had enough, and slipped away by a route only a native palace-dweller could have navigated without getting lost. I was weary, but not yet weary enough to sleep, and a lingering disquiet in my soul warned me against the attempt. The Hokuten's tribute had disturbed me more deeply than I'd believed possible, and the seed of a suspicion had been planted in my mind. I was a thinker, my father said. I believe it pleased him to know that at least one of his sons had inherited our mother's introspection. At times like this, however, when worries assailed me until my head ached with them, I wished I could have inherited only her looks.

Fortunately, I had a refuge. The overgrown balcony which overlooked the palace garden was mine and mine alone, by deed of my father. Even the servants never intruded here, despite the fact that the flowering vines which climbed this side of the palace had run riot in a chaotic display of life. Dead leaves crunched under my feet; the metal railing was beginning to rust. No one could fathom why I liked the place so much -- least of all myself, as I had always been fastidious. Yet here amid the sprawling tendrils and insistent leaves, with the fragrance of wild blossoms surrounding me, I felt safe and alone as I could so rarely be. There was something about the garden that spread below which soothed some part of me, even when I was at my most troubled. The clean, ordered lines of the pathways and the carefully-arranged miniature trees and stones often felt like a metaphor for my life: ordered chaos, arranged along preordained routes. From the balcony I felt like an omniscient observer of that life; I could see every twist and turn of the path, and predict the ending with ease. Like a prophet, perhaps.

Because of the train of my thoughts in that moment, I was not at all surprised to hear a step behind me and to find that it was Kaaruman, when I turned. "Forgive me," he said, his deep voice surprisingly soft. "I did not mean to disturb you."

Face to face, I noticed all the things about him that I had missed from my brightly-lit, elevated vantage in the throne chamber. His size, for one thing: he was easily a head above myself, and I was considered tall. And the breadth of his shoulders, the sheer mass of his body; two of me could have fit within one of him. I still could see little of his face aside from his mouth and chin. There was a surprising youthfulness to these, however, which I had been unable to glimpse before. He was not, as I had first assumed, a contemporary of my father. He might have been closer to my own age.

"By intruding upon my contemplations?" I asked, somewhat facetiously. "Or by being the cause of them, Lord Kaaruman?"

"Primarily the latter," he replied, moving to the railing as if he owned the balcony himself. I decided not to protest. "Only somewhat the former. I had hoped to speak with you in private before I left to return north."

"Ah. And did your magical prescience lead you here?" I lifted an eyebrow.

"No. I saw you pass some corridors back, and followed. When you disappeared around a corner, I noted that the gate to this terrace had been closed but not locked."

"Ah. Then there's no need for you to apologize for disturbing me here, Lord Kaaruman; I should have been more careful."

He gazed out at the garden and I examined him in profile. There was none of the timidity or fawning sycophancy about him that I'd encountered in other nobles; nor did I sense slyness or a conspiratorial nature. That in itself was unusual. Long before my ascendancy I'd learned that most clan-nobles saw me only as a means to some end -- power to be thwarted, or power to be exploited. I trusted my instincts and had rarely been proven wrong in my first impressions. The first impression I'd gotten of this man seemed even stronger now on second-meeting. Dignity and solemnity and a deceptive simplicity. Most interesting.

"I have no prescience," he said abruptly. "Prophets are given only glimpses of the future, not its entirety. If I knew everything, I would tell you."

"I believe you," I replied. "I have read of the prophets who lived in ages past. Their predictions were never straightforward." I hesitated then offered coyly, to draw him out, "Historians have dismissed tales of those who could fortell the future as fantasy, or fiction."

"We are real," he said in his quiet, deep voice. It made me think of cool, placid bedrock. "Like my fathers and mothers before me I read the stars and the spirit-mists. They are uncertain augurs of the future, but for one born with the gift they reveal some things."

A snippet of his tribute returned to me then, and I stared at him for a moment. "The 'uncertain future'," I said, intuiting abruptly. "Do you have some role to play, Lord Kaaruman, in your own prophecy?"

To my surprise, he stiffened. I could not see his eyes within his hood, but I felt that there was guilt in the way he looked at me -- guilt and a myriad of other emotions I could not interpret.

"We all have some role to play in it," he said at length. "But whether we are its movers or its victims remains to be seen."

"You know more than you're saying." I frowned. He turned his face away.

"Yes, I do." Maddeningly, he fell silent again.

"You said you wanted to speak to me alone. To tell me something more?"

"To tell you all I can," he replied softly. "Eight dynasties have come and gone in this age of enlightenment, this age of reason. Your father's reign marks the ninth. The Beast will come soon. You must seek him."

"Beast? Seek him? What does that mean?"

"I don't know. I can say only that you are the key to everything, and you must discover the answers for yourself. There are some answers hidden even from me, Ouji-sama. But seek the Beast, seek the _nature_ of the Beast, and the answers will reveal themselves to you."

"That -- " I made an effort and cut off my angry tirade before it could begin. There would be no point in it, not when he already could not face me, not when his shoulders were already bowed beneath the weight of my ire. He was a warrior born and bred; I could see that in the power of his build and his pride. It troubled him that he could offer me only these tantalizing snippets of information. That cooled my anger somewhat.

"I came to tell you that," he said, softly, "and to give you one more tribute. Of a different kind." His hand flicked into a fold of his cloak and emerged again. He took my hand and pressed an object into it. I started, feeling a sharp coldness numb my fingers, and looked down. In my hand lay a rose: perfectly-formed, from each delicate petal down to the glittering thorns along its stem, of ice. Faint moisture-mist wisped away from its leaves.

"It will not melt," he said, releasing my hand. "In my land there are many wonders; this eternal ice is only one of them. Perhaps someday you will come there so that I can show you the rest, Ouji-sama."

Too amazed to do anything else, I stared down at the rose in wonder. It should not have affected me so, especially after all the other, flashier gifts I'd received that evening. It should have been just another one to me. Somehow, it was not.

Belatedly I looked up to thank him -- but he had gone. For such a large man, he could move quickly and quietly when he needed to.

I found myself wishing that he had stayed awhile.

***

The next day I awakened in a fire of determination to find the answers Kaaruman had suggested. I began in the palace library, which had long been a favorite haunt of mine. I knew exactly where to look. To my surprise, I found mention of a Beast nearly right away. Later I would realize I had been meant to find it.

"The bringer of the end," read the tome I'd found. "In ancient myth, a god above all gods save Kami; also known as the Hakaishin (God of Destruction)."

There were other such mentions spiced liberally throughout the older references -- those which had been written prior to the reign of my mad many-times-great-grandfather Sirugesse the Fourth, nearly ten thousand years before. He had been the one to declare many of the ancient ways anathema in his effort to force the society of the Tenkai onto a more enlightened path. Unfortunately, he'd also been convinced that it was possible to make peace with the demon hordes who constantly tested the borders of the Tenkai. He'd become the only Tenrin-ou in history to be eaten by his allies.

He had disliked old myths like this one and had taken steps to suppress them, but fortunately the palace library had been kept intact for the sake of research. Thanks to this I learned that the Hakaishin -- the Beast -- was a creature which spent much of its existence sleeping and dormant. Waiting, for the preordained time when it would awaken to rampage madly throughout the world. There would be no reason for this rampage; it destroyed because it was Destruction, and just as Kami had created the world in the beginning, the Hakaishin would eliminate it in the end. It could not be bargained with. It had no logic. It was simply a Beast... with the power of the universe at its beck and call.

It was fascinating; the stuff of great tales, or nightmares. Still, I found resolving the mystery to be little more than a pleasurable intellectual exercise... until I read a chronicle written by a Stargazer of that time. "Stargazer," I recalled, was the ancient term for "prophet."

"The Beast is always present, sleeping within a fleshly form and hidden behind a mortal soul. When that body dies, it incarnates in another. All who bear a soul are suspect, but the body that hides the Beast is marked. Seek the horns and the shadow. As the eyes open, so does the Beast awaken. Then the end comes."

The name on the chronicle was unknown to me, but the clan-mark after his name was not: Hokuten.

And the mark that this long-dead prophet described was familiar to me as well.

I had a brother, Karadaten. He was my elder by nearly fifty years, and he would have been Heir if not for the controversy surrounding his birth. Not his birth, specifically, but an aspect of it: a birthmark found on his body a few moments after his naming. Not all the great clans had lost the knowledge of the ancient ways. A few -- some of them powerful -- were familiar with the old myths. I had seen their faces the night before when Kaaruman had recited his tribute. They had been the few not laughing.

They had protested the idea of naming Karadaten Heir at the time. My father said little of the matter, but I gathered from the advisors that he had reluctantly given in to the pressure brought to bear on him by those clans. He, like most enlightened nobility, found the notion of shaping policy around ancient myths absurd, and he deeply resented being forced to yield to what he perceived as mere superstition. But he had yielded, and now I was Heir. Karadaten out of all of us had been the one most pleased with the situation, for he had no interest in being Tenrin and was content to live out his life as a wealthy and privileged member of the Tenkai elite. He had been as proud as Father that I'd turned out so well. He was my best friend, my first and greatest champion. I loved him more dearly than life.

I had seen the birthmark that had disinherited him. It was a shadowy blotch on the back of his hand, coincidentally shaped like the head of a bull with two curving horns near his knuckles. We had always snickered over a peculiar feature of the mark: two smaller blotches within the shadow, livid red, in approximately the right size and position to resemble closed eyes.

I left the library then and told no one what I had found for three days. Some part of me wished to deny what it already knew. I was not yet ready to face it. But I have never been a coward or a fool, so after three days of silence I sought out my brother.

He was in the palace pool when I found him, sporting about with three ladies from clans well-favored by our own. As was his usual wont, he invited me to join them; as was my usual wont, I smiled and refused. I stayed only long enough to confirm the fear growing in my mind. Karadaten's mark was much the same as before, except for the red blotches. They were larger now, shaped differently. The change was slight but noticeable; the eyes were opening.

For three more days I wrestled with myself, seeking some solution and finding none, sinking rapidly into despair. I could say nothing to my father; he would think me mad. I refused to darken Karadaten's days -- such as they were -- with such dire news. There was only one person with whom I could commiserate, and perhaps plan.

I resolved to find my way to Kaaruman.

***

Father agreed to my suggestion of a tour of the various kingdoms of the Tenkai with remarkable ease. He always indulged my whims. So with some advance preparation and juggling of my itinerary I set off, with a small cozy party of twenty to accompany me. It would take us a month to reach the border, and the Hokuten lands.

The members of my entourage became increasingly uneasy as we traveled. They did not like traveling north, away from the warmth of the capitol; it was said to be barely-civilized and lacked all the pleasures of Zenmijou. Not for nothing was Hokuten despised. And as we traveled closer to our destination, the rumors were gradually confirmed. The country was harsh here. The humans here were pinched and stern-looking, aged prematurely by the cold and the conditions. And the land was besieged; more than once along the way we saw signs of demon attacks, although most of the spoor was old. The demons got past the border only rarely, with the ever-vigilant Hokuten there to guard it. Even so, the sights that I saw along the journey would etch themselves into my memory for all time: burned-out homes, lined and wary faces, whole tracts of farmland where nothing grew.

I began to change in spite of myself. I grew taciturn and moody, and neglected my grooming in a way that would once have shamed me. My hair, which because of its length needed constant tending to remain manageable, grew tangled and stringy when I refused to let my servants fuss over it. I could not bear the notion of wasting such effort and time on my appearance when the very land around me was so poor in spirit. My eyes became as haunted as those of the northerners. For the first time in my life, I prayed. I prayed that my father would listen to me when I returned to ask him to send aid here. I prayed that these scenes -- or worse -- would not be repeated throughout the Tenkai if we failed to stop the awakening of the Hakaishin.

Destiny. Terror. Hope. These things filled my thoughts as the days wore on.

The monotony broke on the last day of our journey. I had been riding in a daze, as had become my habit since we'd crossed the snow-line. It had stopped snowing that morning, but the cold had deepened and a fierce wind joined it, blistering exposed skin like fire. My horse, a spirited southern creature not at all built for such weather, shivered under its blanket as it plodded forward through the icy muck. I and the other gods of the party were little better, but we had been told that the Hokuten's fasthold was just on the other side of the hills. A runner had been sent ahead to forewarn them of our approach, so we pushed onward and dreamed of the warm food and beds that would hopefully greet us when we arrived.

I barely noticed when the rider three horses ahead of me fell, so absorbed was I in my own misery. But his cry rode back to us on the wind -- a cry of such agony and terror that it would plague my nightmares for days afterward. That caught my attention, as did the sudden closing of my bodyguards about me as they drew their blades and shouted to one another in alarm. Clustered about by bodies, disoriented, I could make little sense of what was happening until I heard a terrible roar from just beyond the knot of men, and Klytus arched backward with three strange points curving from his breast.

Dearest Klytus; he had been my guard since I'd come of age. I remembered sharing my first youthful passion with him, petting his auburn hair while he shuddered upon my body and gasped out my name. He gasped again now as the demon's claws tore through his back and out his front, rending his heart and lungs to shreds in the process. It snatched him from his saddle and threw him away like a sack of clothes, then did the same to his horse, tearing a hole in the living cordon that had protected me before the other guards could overcome their shock to close it. It looked in at me and I stared stupidly back, face-to-face with the Tenkai-jin's ancient enemy for the first time.

The demon was, strangely, not as monstrous as I'd expected. Huge and misshapen, yes, with a humanoid body that bulked and smoothed in all the wrong places, but... not entirely dissimilar from my kind. Its massive shoulders reminded me obliquely of the Hokuten Kaaruman; its long, powerful body was sleek as a dancer's beneath the crude clothing it wore. Its too-long arms ended in too-long hands tipped with foot-long claws, but its face was lean and angular beneath the shaggy mane of hair, genderless and smooth. The eyes were the most disturbing thing, however; they were what had caught and held me, transfixed. There was a clear intelligence there -- alien and hostile, but this was no mindless beast. Those eyes were as black as my own, and oddly familiar.

Then a clawed hand swung down toward my head, and another of my guards threw himself in the way of it to save me. Hot blood sprayed me from crown to thigh as the demon sliced the man and part of his horse in half. The blood slapped me out of my daze; I wheeled my horse about, reaching in a panic for my sword. But the falling body of my comrade, struck with such force, drove both I and the horse backward; we fell amid a chaos of churning hooves and falling gore.

The impact dazed me in earnest for several seconds. When I recovered my wits and looked up, the demon was the only creature still standing; all the members of my entourage were dead or fled. It dropped the corpse it held and turned to me, its wide, cruel mouth stretching in a smile of anticipation. I could not draw my sword; my leg on that side was pinned by the horse. I stared back at it and could think of nothing as my death approached.

I do not remember the seconds that followed with any real clarity. A spray of snow and mud flew out of nowhere, half-blinding me. While I shook my head to clear my eyes, I heard the demon's bellow---angry this time, thwarted. Then the sound of an impact as something solid struck flesh. Another bellow, this one of pain, followed by a man's grunt. Something jostled my horse's corpse, sending agony flaring up my body from the trapped leg; if it had not been broken before, it was now. A great hot weight fell upon me, panting with foul animal breath; another sound of impact and this time the demon's howl sounded right in my ear. It was on me! I struggled and cursed and wept while trying to wrestle myself away, but that final howl had been its death cry. After only a second it went limp. Voices called out to each other around me in an unfamiliar dialect. The weight was lifted away and I opened my eyes to see light. Through a haze I glimpsed a tall, broad form coming to stand over me. I could not make out his face but I felt that I recognized him anyhow. Then I knew no more.

***

I awakened to song. The voice was low and sonorous as it echoed around me, solemn in its gentle wordless harmony. I drifted amid those floating notes for some time, seduced back to full consciousness slowly and delicately. Somewhere in that sea of melody I became aware of warmth; gradually the warmth reminded me that I had flesh; eventually the flesh had had enough of resting, and opened its eyes.

I was in a misty cavern. All around me rough walls glistened, not wet but frozen; I could smell the slightly-bitter freshness of ice. Above -- for my head rested on a pad of fur -- the ceiling was a single solid pane of ice, thick and yet unblurred. Beyond it I could see a hazy evening sky, just darkening. When I lifted my head to see below, I found that I was sitting in a pool of steaming hot water, either welling naturally from the stone floor or surreptitiously piped in to seem that way. There were several such pools in the chamber, all around me; it was from these that the mist arose.

I was not alone, however. A sound closer than the song startled me and I turned to see a young girl, a child really, crouching to set down a folded pile of cloth. She was blonde, pretty in an unfinished way, dressed in tailored animal skins. As I stared, she smiled at me ingenuously and winked one disconcertingly blue eye. Then without a word she rose and left, slipping around a curve of the rock and out of sight. It was only once the sound of her footsteps had faded down a passageway that it occurred to me to question her. I called out, but received no answer.

Curious hospitality. Still, at least my unknown hosts had shown some care for my modesty. Rising from the pool, I dried myself with a square of absorbent soft animal skin and unfolded the bundle the girl had left. Within it were slippers of the finest suede and a thick but light cloak of white fur. The fur felt softer than goosedown against my bare skin when I wrapped myself in it. As fine as any Zenmijou silk. I shivered in sensual pleasure and took a moment's delight in turning to watch it swirl about my ankles, the last few inches of my hair peeking out from beneath its hem. The ice, along a nearby wall, was smooth and clear enough that I could see myself in it, faintly: a young mink, with my very own black tail.

Then memory returned to shatter my mirth. My companions, my guardsmen; had they all been killed by the demon? If so, who had rescued me, healed my injuries, groomed and bathed me? And where was I?

Since there seemed to be no one about to answer my questions, I set forth to find my hosts. The passage that the girl had entered, however, was gone. I found only folds of ice when I went around the corner to follow her. After some wandering, I discovered another passage where I was certain there had been nothing before. The song was stronger from here. With some trepidation, I followed it.

I traveled down a long corridor for some ways. Presently I turned a corner and found myself in a new chamber, this one fully as large as the bathing cavern. Instead of pools, however, this one held homey things: shelves of books and strange, primitive-looking ornaments; a wide circular depression lined with cushions and blankets that seemed more nest than bed. The walls here were covered in silver drapes; shadows shifted behind them. To one side, a small elevated brazier burned a tiny fire, spices and musk redolent in its smoke.

And in the center of the chamber beneath the clear ice ceiling stood my singer, arms outstretched and head tilted toward the starry sky. He was a large man, made larger by the mantle of furs and leather he wore. A long thick plait of hair, bright as gold, draped over this. His eyes were closed, his body taut; all the power of his being seemed poured into the song. And such a song! He sang in haunting minors and wistful melodies that were both funereal dirge and love song, eerily beautiful and wondrously sad. There was magic here -- old magic of the sort that had not been seen in the Tenkai in ages. What he summoned with that magic I could not say. My skin tingled as I stood bathed in it.

Finally the singer brought the song to a gentle close and turned. There was no need for him to speak. The mouth was the same -- less stern now after his song, but the chin was just as strong. I had known him even without seeing these familiarities; had known him, perhaps, from the moment I'd awakened with his voice in my ears and my mind.

"Kaaruman." It seemed a crime to speak after such beauty, but it could not be helped. "So I have you to thank for my rescue."

He bowed, all dignity and grace, but there was something different about him this time -- some slight slip in his confidence that he tried to mask, but which my court-trained eyes caught easily. "If you had only sent word, Ouji-sama," he replied, straightening, "I could have had my warriors meet your party. We would have warned you that there were demons active along the trail. We could have protected you."

"I would have laughed," I said bitterly, and moved to sit on a sort of hummock nearby. "The honor-guard of the Tenkai no Ouji, requiring the aid of -- forgive me -- fur-covered barbarians? Before today's attack I wouldn't have believed it."

He smiled very slightly. "Fur-covered barbarians perhaps, but barbarians who know the land and the ways of fighting Mazoku-jin. Every warrior of the Hokuten must kill a demon alone in order to be counted an adult. One might say we are bred to the task." He shrugged, with his own measure of conceit. "Your people did well, all things considered. They kept you alive."

I sobered, thinking of poor Klytus. "Did any of my people survive?"

"The ones who ran." His voice was still soft bedrock. No hint of its true beauty was present in speaking. "They are being cared for, as you have been. You may see them when you wish -- but I should note that it has been three days now, since your rescue."

"Three days." Somehow I was not surprised. There was a timeless quality to the Hokuten caverns. Here, I felt none of the urgency that had pushed me northward... but perhaps that was because I'd found what I sought. "And yet, my leg..."

He lowered his eyes, again displaying that curious hesitancy. "The Hokuten are blessed with the gift of healing, my lord, as well as that of prophecy. Both have served us well in our neverending struggle against the demons, as you might imagine."

I could indeed imagine. He intrigued me more and more, this quiet warrior, even without the hood -- more so, in fact, for now I saw that he was indeed my age. Young, for a clan leader. And certainly not what I would have expected in a prophet born of an ancient line. He had the same golden hair and blue eyes as most of the Hokuten I'd seen, ornamenting a face of planes and angles, high-cheekboned and wind-weathered. He was not beautiful. There was too much strength in that face for such a delicate word. He was, however, noble-looking in a way that few nobles ever were. It was an inner nobility, sprung from the same well as that marvelous dignity of his, no doubt. It shone through the hard jaw, the stubborn brow, and made him handsome.

Sad, though. I could see that now, as I'd seen the dignity before. There was a solemnity and wisdom to him that belied his age. His eyes were troubled, as if some great weight burdened his soul. That look had become familiar to me in the weeks since I'd unravelled the mystery of his prophecy. I had seen it in my own eyes every morning. The consequence of foreknowledge. He had lived with this for far longer than I had.

"You Hokuten are sly creatures," I said, trying to make light of the matter. "Prophecy, healing, ice that never melts, caverns that shape themselves to your will... The others scorn you as barbarian weaklings, but it seems as if you have more magic than all of the Twelve Clans and sub-clans combined."

"We have simply kept in practice," he replied. "Once all of the god-clans had magic, until an ancestor of yours forbid it. _My_ ancestors relinquished their status as nobility rather than give up our powers. Few remember that we were not always commoners."

It was certainly news to me. I gazed at him in surprise and new respect. To endure ridicule, as he had, knowing that he had as much right to boast of his lineage as anyone else, was something I suspect few nobles could have done. And for his whole line to endure it, for centuries, all so they could continue to practice their magic...

Magic that had such a cost.

"Some gifts are better borne in silence, perhaps," I murmured after a moment, and when he looked at me he knew I was not speaking of healing. It destroyed what little levity we'd shared, and his face settled into patently familiar grave lines.

"You've found the Beast, then."

"Haven't you?" I had resented him a little since I'd figured it out. I knew it was wrong, but I could not help myself. "'The blood of evil'... you knew then, didn't you? At the ball. And you made me find out for myself because you knew I'd never believe Karadaten could carry a monster within him."

"Karadaten," he murmured, half to himself. "I should have realized... No, Ouji-sama, I did not know, not completely. Though you're right in that if I had, I wouldn't have told you. I would have killed your brother, instead."

I stared at him. If I had had a weapon in that moment, I would have attacked him with it. It would have been pure reflex.

He saw that in my eyes and looked away in clear discomfort. "If killing one man meant saving a whole world, Ouji-sama, wouldn't you do it? If killing him would save him from a fate far worse -- eternal imprisonment, his soul trapped within the most evil and destructive being ever unleashed upon the universe? Would that be murder, or mercy?"

"How _dare_ you---"

He shook his head and turned away, his great shoulders bowing as if in grief. "It is too late," he interrupted, his voice harsh. "The prophecy has been set in motion. Once the Beast has begun to wake, nothing can stop it. This world's fate and your brother's are sealed."

" -- What?" His obvious anguish broke the back of my rage. I pushed myself to my feet and went to him, torn between anger and withering fear. "What are you saying? That the world will end? That there's no way to prevent it? The whole reason I came here was to find some way out of this madness!"

"There is no way out," he said heavily. He turned his back on me and crossed the room, picking up a small object from a shelf; a toy horse. "The future-lines are clear at last. There are only two paths left now. Both end in the destruction of this world... but one, at least, holds the hope of a future beyond that."

I felt cold despite the fur cloak. "How?" It was all I could manage.

"Rebirth," he whispered. "Reincarnation. This world dies, as all living things must -- but a new one can rise from its ashes. The souls of all who live here now could live again, there. Your brother included."

I stared at his back, wanting to strike him. "What kind of hope is that? Roll over and die, and wait to be reborn? We must _stop_ this Hakaishin, before it can --"

"It cannot be stopped," he said, his voice sharp and flat and so cold that it silenced me instantly. "It has all the power of Kami himself -- it is Kami's equal and opposite. Raise a thousand armies and it will destroy them all with ease. There is no mortal power that can stop it." He fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, the coldness tempered by pain. He gazed down at the toy horse. "I have a sister."

Meaning, I realized dully, that he too had wrestled with the anger I was feeling, and he too had desperately sought other options -- finding none. And if a prophet could find no alternatives... I shuddered and looked away, aching with his pain and my own. How he had endured this all his life, I could not imagine.

"Death and rebirth or death and nothingness, is that it?" I sighed at the bitterness and resignation in my own voice. How could I give up so easily? Yet I knew, with the same instinctive certainty which had brought me here, that he was right. I had feared this or something like it all along. Now I had to accept it. "No choice at all, really. Very well, then, Stargazer. How do we save the future?"

He ignored -- or perhaps simply resonated with -- my bitterness. "'Four stars shine brightest in the heavens,'" he said, setting the toy horse back on the shelf. "The elders of my clan believe this means four rulers of certain god-clans. The warrior-bloods of the four cardinal directions. My clan, yours, Kuriin, and Aporos. They have the power to bring about the rebirth if we can pull them together, and if their powers can be marshalled to our cause."

He turned to me. The room was lit only by the brazier and the surprisingly bright light of the stars and the slivered moon shining through the skylight. In that pale radiance his eyes were nearly clear. "Two of them, however, are special."

"How so?"

"One has great power, hidden within himself -- power nearly as great as that of the Hakaishin. It comes of demon blood mingled into the purest of godly blood, far back in his line." He gazed at me steadily. "That same conjunction, and the innate power in it, is what drew the Beast to his brother, I think."

I flinched. My first thought was to cry insult.

My second was to weep, for I knew instantly that he spoke the truth.

The clues had been there for me to see all along. Grandsire Sirugesse and his pacts with demons. Perhaps he had gone beyond mere pacts. It would explain his effort to stamp out magic and mysticism -- to protect any bastard offspring from the censure of those who could sense their taint. And it would explain the familiarity I'd seen in the eyes of the demon who'd attacked my party. Black eyes, so like my own.

I closed my eyes, feeling tears sting my lashes. But then fingers caught my chin, startling me into looking up.

"Without your taint there would be no hope at all," Kaaruman said, his eyes grave and dark. "No pureblooded god would have the power to alter the path of destruction. We sprang from the demons ourselves, the legends say, bred away from their corruption by Kami. But because of that, most of us are too far from our roots to call upon the old power. _Your_ blood combines the strength and magic of the past with the intellect of the present. You can be again what our ancestors were -- immortal, possessed of knowledge beyond this world, master of the elements. It will be enough to turn the tide..."

I frowned and shook my head, disbelieving. "I have no power. I'm good with a sword, I have a knack for turning heads. That's it. There's no magic in me."

"There is. It sleeps, Ouji-sama -- Yakushia -- like the power that sleeps in your brother. And it too can be awakened." He faltered then in his earnest appeal, inexplicably. "The other special one I mentioned. He... he is charged with the task of... awakening you."

He had taken his hand away and now he lowered his eyes, that curious diffidence returning to his manner. He seemed almost embarassed. It was then, in a completely random intuitive leap, that I recalled the odd familiarity in his phrasing as he'd described my true heritage a moment before. It reminded me of another line of his prophecy, and I murmured it aloud without thinking. "'Merge past and present and uncertain future...'"

He swallowed, audibly, still not looking at me. "'And the blood of evil shall bring forth salvation.'"

And then I understood everything.

My blood. My power, inherited from my monstrous and evil ancestors. In Karadaten that power was stirring from dormancy, but in me it still waited, potential. That was the past. The rationalism and intellectualism with which I had been raised; the ordered peace of my life among the highest of Kami's favored people; this was the present. Both blended in me, demonic with divine.

And this warrior-mystic, he of the healing voice and killing hands, he whose eyes saw along the paths of destiny -- he was the future. He could awaken my sleeping power and purify it so that it might be turned toward a higher purpose. We would be bound together then, he and I, perhaps insolubly, perhaps forever. This too I understood with the clarity of instinct. It was something I had always been meant to understand.

He saw that I did. "Our... communion... must be... more than spiritual," he murmured awkwardly. His blush was grey in the moonlight. "I understand if... you find the idea unappealing."

I most certainly did not -- but this wasn't exactly the situation I'd had in mind, either. He had intrigued me since we'd met. In another life, another world, I might have amused myself with a long and meticulous seduction. But here and now, there could be no games between us.

I slipped an arm out from my cloak and placed two fingers under his chin, lifting it to its normal proud position. He looked back at me with wary, blatantly hopeful, eyes. I smiled to myself, reading confirmation of my suspicions there.

"You knew _this_ when we met in Zenmijou, didn't you? The rose."

He flushed greyer and tried to look away; I would not let him. "I had... hoped for the time to court you properly."

"You courted me well enough. I am only superficially the spoiled flower I seem to be; underneath it all I have the same values as any man." I smiled a little and watched the hope in his eyes rise another notch. "Roses are lovely, but I was more impressed that you drove my father into an apoplectic rage."

He smiled as well, shyly. "Then---"

I stepped close, pressing the length of myself along his larger, heavier frame; we moulded together nicely. I put an arm around his neck. "I would do anything to save my brother, my kingdom," I told him as honestly as I could. "You know that. But I would not pervert this. I have some inkling of what it means, what it will do to both of us. I will not treat it lightly."

He swallowed audibly and slipped an arm around my waist. I could feel the heat of him, the slight tremor, through the fur. "Is... is it only this? That this is the only way?"

I smiled and released my hold on the cloak to free my other hand. This I slid up his chest, my fingers stroking rich suede and hard muscle underneath. I had longed to do this, I think, since he'd given me the ice-rose. He read that truth in my eyes and his own closed in painful relief.

"You were so beautiful, Yakushia, when I first saw you," he murmured. "On that crystal stair you were an alabaster sculpture with eyes like onyx... you hardly seemed real until you moved and smiled at me. I could hardly speak. I thought I would die. I knew it was fated between us, I've known that since I was a child, but never in my darkest dreams did I suspect I would want you so much..."

His impassioned declaration would have been inane coming from another suitor; the usual courtly flattery, heavier-handed than most. From him, however, the words were real. I had broken hearts all my life -- had accepted the adulation and infatuation of others as my due the way other nobles accepted tithes from their vassals. This was something more. It touched me, the way a rose of ice had once touched me more powerfully than a thousand flashier, richer gifts. I wanted him in that moment. I wanted him for more than just that moment. Sensitive as he was, he saw that too, reading the changes in my face the way he no doubt read the flickerings of the stars. His own face cleared of fear and softened. I would have to revise my opinion of his beauty, I thought to myself.

With my hand on the back of his neck, I pressed gently. He bent, marvelously malleable. When his mouth found mine I sighed, and his hands tightened on the fur of my cloak. That was the only specialness at first. Not all kisses could be perfect, but that was all right. There would be plenty of time for practice. The world would end, but not tonight.

So he lifted me in arms like steel and carried me to his fur-lined nest, where we lay down amid the cushions. He stroked the cloak away to bare my skin. His fingers were callused, his palms hardened from labor, and I, who had only made love to courtiers and highborn soldiers as pampered and perfumed as myself, shivered in delight beneath this new sensation. I wanted to know more of his differences, and sat up to pull the furs and suedes off him so that I could see them better. He smiled at my ardor, but when his clothes had been laid aside I saw that his was no less, if not greater. Then I pulled him down to me and we both began to uncover new truths.

What followed then was sacred; I know that now. The physical pleasure was only part of it. He intuited all of my desires almost before I was aware of them. I wanted to feel his strength and so he bruised me with his mouth, gripped me with his hands, drove into me so hard that I could only cling to him and pray he would leave enough of me intact to save the world. Everyone should find a prophet for a lover. His face was intent, his eyes focused as he watched me writhe beneath him. I could feel him in my mind as well, probing, coaxing, cleansing. I could not feel the furs beneath me, or the chill of the room; I was aware only of the incense, and the sounds of our mingled sighs, and his touch. Somewhere in the midst of our ecstasy others came into the room, or perhaps they had always been there. I could not see them behind the hangings, but gradually I heard their low chanting, a chorus of voices tinged with Kaaruman's magic. As my cries grew louder and his breath rougher and as our bodies strained together towards the peak the chorus rose, amplifying and focusing our power. I opened my eyes and through a haze I saw the ice ceiling, and beyond it the night sky. The moon had set but strange, twisting lights and colors had risen in their place. They were misty and cold and alien, but so beautiful that my heart ached. They haloed his face from behind. He was Kami above me, terrible and magnificent and loving, reshaping me to his own design with chiselling thrusts and sculpting caresses. I opened my mouth to howl my pleasure and he covered it with his own, drinking me, filling me. Somewhere inside us both we were changing, growing, and overwhelmed by this I bucked backward, jettisoning the last of my old self in a sparkling arc into the air. He threw back his head and shouted, his voice mingling with the crescendo of the song, and filled that emptiness with hot white light.

***

From that moment we were bound forever. From that instant was destiny set. The spirit-lights had been both blessing and warning, for far to the south in the heart of Zenmijou a great and terrible evil awakened at last. I am told that my father was the first to die in the chaos, murdered by the thing that had been his son. I am Tenrin-ou Yakushia, now. The last Tenrin-ou.

The capitol is gone, obliterated in the birthing-throes of the Hakaishin. Most of the cities of the south have fallen as well, although the Tenkai armies put up whatever fight they could. They died bravely.

The survivors have made their way up to the lands of the Hokuten, and we will make our stand here. Of the Twelve Divine Clans, eight have been utterly destroyed; only a handful of the god-blooded still live. The humans are greater in number, but they die so much more easily. Even a few demons have come to join us, for the Hakaishin hates them as much as everyone else. They all look to me for salvation, but I cannot save them.

Yet there is hope thanks to the Hokuten and their barbarian ways. I and the other three clan-lords will fight, and though we know we will die, we also know that part of us, part of our world, will survive. Special magic has been performed to elevate Lady Kuriin and the Holy Mother of the Aporos to this new level we have found, somewhere between mortal gods and Kami. Kaaruman and I needed no further rituals. My body brims now with power and old knowledge -- not enough to stop my brother, but enough to protect this last spark of all that we are and have been. The Hakaishin will destroy the rest. But when he is done, and his power diminishes because there is nothing left for him to destroy... then we four will touch him and soothe him to sleep. We will build a new world from the ashes of the old, and my brother's tortured soul will be the first to find new life in it. I will see to that.

Beside me Kaaruman stirs and takes my hand. The sky is black-clouded above us, roiling with storm-wind. He has foregone his hood in favor of a wide-brimmed hat, which remains on his head only thanks to its chin-strap. The shadows of the hat fail to conceal his eyes, however, which glow now with the pure light he found within himself when he awakened the magic in me. I smile, touched by tenderness even in this final hour. How could I have ever doubted his beauty?

Sometime soon, the future will be born. In it will be born five children, pure and innocent. They will remember nothing of this, but sometime, somehow, their souls will call to one another. They will come together and fight evil whenever they find it, bringing hope wherever there is despair. It will be their nature, and their birthright, and their destiny. When they die another five will be born, and another five after that, again and again throughout eternity... or until we find a way to break the cycle.

And each time among the five there will be two who are special. Whether they realize it or not, they will be drawn to one another more than the rest. Perhaps they will resist it in some of those future lives; they'll have that much freedom. Perhaps they will choose to capitulate, and if so heaven itself will exult in their passion.

We shall see. The future, much of it, remains to be written.


End file.
